


with the birds I’ll share this lonely view

by awwcoffeenooooo



Series: if there's discretion that you've not abandoned now's the time [1]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Jessica Jones (TV), The Defenders (Marvel TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Frank loves Karen but is scared, Humor, Jessica’s just sort of along for the ride, Pretty Crackish, Trish and Karen are the blonde power duo we all need, Unplanned Pregnancy, but fun crack or at least I hope, it switches, this is gonna be a wall of tags, this wasn’t supposed to be this long but here we are
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-10 21:54:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12921024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awwcoffeenooooo/pseuds/awwcoffeenooooo
Summary: "You do realize this is the beginning of a really shitty romcom, right?" Jessica scoffs, shaking her head. Karen glowers."How so?""You're knocked up, Trish and I are your questionable moral support, and baby daddy's somewhere out there playing hipster,"





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So apparently I have a reputation as the pregnancy fic author cause a nonnie on Tumblr requested a Kastle pregnancy. It was supposed to be maybe 2K at most, but it sort of got away from me, cause it’s currently at 6K and I don’t think I’ve even hit the climax. So I broke it up into pieces, and this little thing was born. 
> 
> Title is from Scar Tissue by Red Hot Chili Peppers, because I’ve had them on repeat and I can’t stop humming most of their stuff. 
> 
> Please enjoy, or let yourself fall further into this pit that is Kastle. I’m already down here, waiting . . .

 

  
David likes to think he's a good man with a rotten streak of luck. It's not that he ever wanted to be in the position that life had thrown him. He just sort of ended up there because, again, life was a sick bastard.

But sometimes, as he rationalizes, good men have to do slightly less golden things. Such as this, sitting at his desk and flipping through street cameras. It wasn't really great behavior, as the government would certainly like to hear of this, but in his mind, it was necessary.

Someone had to make sure Page was okay. Frank was still too caught up in his own head to do it himself, love lorn as he was, and so the responsibility fell to David.

Not that Frank knew about this. If he knew, David had a feeling he wouldn't be walking straight for a few days.

But really, someone had to make sure she was alright. Gun or not, Karen needed someone to keep an eye out. She didn't have many acquaintances. A lawyer bloke showed up occasionally, but not enough to satisfy David. Karen needed someone to make sure she didn't vanish into New York's buzz without a trace.

So every few days David taps into the security camera aimed to her windowsill, and makes sure the white roses Frank had left were still being so meticulously cared for. Healthy plants were a sign of a healthy mind, after all.

Eight months this goes on, Frank seemingly keeping his distance from Page's apartment but in regular contact with David. The roses bloom repeatedly. Until one week they don't.

Their petals wilt and warp and leaves begin to lose their luster, and Karen makes no attempt to keep them afloat outside of occasionally dumping a half empty glass on them.

He catches sight of her, once. Her eyes are rimmed red and hair frizzy and clothes casual, so outside of the skirts and blouses he'd attributed to her. Something's wrong.

But he says nothing, because Frank would have his head on a platter if he knew he'd been watching the tall blonde reporter behind his back. It's not as if she's in any danger, either, just seemingly copious amounts of stress and a dash of depression.

That doesn't mean David doesn't drop hints, though. Dinners with Frank are a bimonthly affair, and he makes sure to bring up at least two articles of hers before Frank shuts him down with that glare.

But one day he's lucky enough to catch Page moving about in her apartment, something clutched in her hand, her movements tired but fueled.

She wrenches open the window, reaches for the roses, and jabs a white stick in the soil. Her eyes shoot a pointed glare directly at the waterfront before she disappears back inside, slamming the window and tugging the curtains shut.

David wastes no time in zooming in on the planter, and then promptly chokes on his tea.

_Shit._

 

* * *

 

 

Here's the thing about Frank:

He's loyal to a fault. His hands are rough and caring, and regardless of how much the air between them seems to shift, he's always there for her. Not in your typical nine to five way, but he gives what he can, and it's good enough for a lonely Karen Page.

The more she gets to know him outside of his crusades, the more she realizes he's actually a huge dork. He's the sort of guy who gets excited over different coffee brews and will never pass up older comedies when he's surfing channels. And he's actually a huge sucker for animals, which may not come as that big of a surprise, but there was a time in mid April when he carried an orphaned squirrel kit in his pocket.

Frank's a dork. She loves that.

Not that he knows it. Or maybe he does and simply doesn't mention it. She tries not to think too hard about it. Being more than a little in love with him is complicated enough.

It's complicated because she's sure she was never supposed to feel for him this way. She wasn't supposed to stare at his lips and ass and get lost in his eyes and want to rub her fingers along the calluses on his hands. She wasn't supposed to find understanding and trust in him. To find a man who knew what it was like to have hit fuck up after fuck up and yet to somehow still be here today. How to push through every single thing that had come in the way to try to find happiness.

Sure, Karen thought joy was futile. Everything comes and goes. But that didn't mean little sparks didn't crop up all over the place, sometimes more around Frank than others.

Karen takes a sip of coffee and glowers. _Sparks_. She thinks bitterly.

She may love him, but she was also going to fucking kill him. Serve the bastard right for not even sticking around the next morning.

The morning after they slept together, that is. Where Karen had a rough day losing a lead and headed home with every intention of getting drunk off her ass, and then Frank showed up, and they sort of got drunk together.

But then the vodka was screwing with her head, and his lips looked especially red that night, and Karen couldn't really help the muttered _kiss me_ before they were actually kissing, Frank's lips hot and wet and his breath as sour as hers. And that kiss turned into two three four more before Karen lost her blouse and Frank lost his jeans and the rest was sort of history.

Except she woke up to a fresh pot of coffee and a distinct lack of a certain ex-vigilante.

Now she was living in the two-months-after period, the one where Frank didn't ever show his face, and if he ever did she wasn't sure whether to kiss him or shoot him.

"Shoot him, probably," Trish shrugs over her latte. "I know I would if Jess ever pulled a stunt like that,"

Karen raises an eyebrow, taking a long sip of her straight black coffee. "She's your sister,"

"Same difference," Trish grins, eyes sparkling. "Either way, I can tell you he doesn't regret it. Don't need to know him to tell you that,"

"Yes, that's exactly why he left her all alone after the night of her dreams," Jessica sets down an Americano on the table, grabbing a chair from nearby. Her voice is dry as she fishes a flask from her pocket. "I'm not big on the whole romance thing, but I'm pretty sure that means it's over, blondie,"

Karen fakes a glare. "Thanks, Jess,"

"It's what I'm here for," she shoots her a sideways grin.

"What, self medication and sarcasm?" Trish scoffs, swatting the flask away from where Jessica's liberally adding it to her take away cup. Karen shoots a glance over to the counter, where a barista is glaring at them. She smothers a smile.

"No, being a pain in your ass."

Karen rolls her eyes, still smiling despite herself. Meeting the two at the station the night of Matt's death hadn't been planned, but they'd quickly come to be good friends. Not as close as Matt and Foggy, but enough that she was comfortable having some female friends.

The smell of Jessica's flask hits her like a slap to the face, and Karen stifles a groan as her stomach turns. Abruptly, she kicks back her chair and darts as quickly and elegantly as possible to the ladies room.

After she's done hurling her stomach's contents into the toilet bowl, Trish having appeared to hold her hair back, and Jessica standing far back against the bathroom wall, Karen leans tiredly against the stall. "Not again," she mutters, and Trish shoots her a sympathetic look.

Of course, that's when Jessica starts laughing, and Karen might have just pulled her gun if it wasn't back in her purse at the table.

"You do realize this is the beginning of a really shitty romcom, right?" Jessica scoffs, shaking her head. Karen glowers.

"How so?"

"You're knocked up, Trish and I are your questionable moral support, and baby daddy's somewhere out there playing hipster,"

* * *

 

The fact that Jessica Jones is the one to call her out as pregnant is something that Karen can't quite wrap her head around.

The fact that she's correct is even more difficult.

But the red lines glare up at her from the test Trish buys her, and the other blonde pulls her into a hug, while Jessica mutters something about needing more to drink for this.

"Shit," is the first word out of her mouth, followed by "Frank's gonna be so pissed,"

"Well," Trish sighs. They made it back to her apartment after, though Karen can't quite remember much of it. "He might piss his pants, yes,"

Karen drags her fingers through her hair, scraping her nails far enough to reach her scalp. "I can't do this, Trish," she whispers. "I just . . . I can't. Frank can't. Not after his kids . . ."

Trish takes the test from her just as Jessica reappears with a cup of tea. "Here, Barbie,"

She passes it gently, and Karen smiles up at her despite her red nose. "Thanks,"

"You're not allowed to have vodka, so, next best thing, right?" Jess offers, and Karen knows she trying. Comfort hasn't ever really been the PI's forte, but she still knows she cares.

"I suppose," she laughs, but it doesn't reach her eyes.

The three of them sit in silence, Karen tiredly rubbing her finger over her brow. Of course, after everything, this would just be the icing on the cake. Ever since leaving Fagan Corners, it felt like her life had just been one giant downward spiral to this point.

After all, who else could say they'd been framed for murder, pissed off a mafia boss, actually committed murder, got hired as a journalist, fallen in love with a known murderer, and then promptly watched the relationship fall apart before discovering herself pregnant.

"To think that's just scratching the surface," Jessica shakes her head, taking a sip of what Karen believes is chamomile tea.

_In case there was any doubt today was weird._

And that's when she realizes she's just blurted out her previous thoughts, and wide-eyed, looks up at Trish.

The radio host's mouth is slightly open, but she shakes her head. "I don't want to know."

Jess leans back further against the door post. "You've put up with me. Nothing can really compare to that,"

Karen's eyebrows raise. "Not even murder?"

"Beat you to it first," Trish sighs. "But barring that . . . how are you feeling?"

 _Like I have half a mind to jump off a building._ "Fine,"

"I call bullshit," Jessica cocks her head, looking intently at the reporter. There's something vaguely disconcerting about the PI being clad in a simple gray top and jeans with a mug of tea in her hands, giving her life advice. Not for the first time, Karen wonders when the hell she fell down this rabbit hole.

"'I'm fine' is like the universal signal for 'I'm dead inside but carry on as normal,'" Trish lays a hand on Karen's knee. "I've been with that one long enough to tell."

Karen thinks she might have just seen Jessica stick her tongue out, but she figures the day is strange enough as it is without looking too closely at things.

"My stomach's calmed, if that's what you mean," she watches the test in Trish's fingers, as if daring the little lines to disappear. "But other than that, I think my head's like a carousel."

"I think that's to be expected," she offers, smiling gently. "What are you feeling, so far? Because I'm here no matter what you want to do, telling Castle or not, keeping it or, well, not."

Karen blows a breath out, knitting her finger tips together around the cooling mug of tea. "I don't know,"

* * *

 

The days tick by.

Decaffeinated tea begins to crowd her coffee grounds to the back of the cupboard, and it's a Wednesday, three weeks later, when she finally knows her answer. Somehow, she knows, there wasn't ever a choice for her, not really.

"I'm doing this," she says bluntly, as soon as Trish's voice hums in her ear.

From the other end, there's a sharp intake of breath, followed by an "okay."

"What do we need to do?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is where the bitter part of bittersweet comes in — it’s still got a few light moments, but there’s also plot, so yeah. I hope you enjoy it, despite the length! The next update should be longer ;)

Karen's moment of joy at finally voicing her choice only lasts a day.

By the third day, she's a sobbing mess. She could blame it on the hormones, but it's so much more than just that, even if they may be contributing to it.

No, it's just the fact that Frank hasn't shown up in eleven weeks. That even if she had a chance to find him and tell him about the pregnancy, there wasn't even a shred of a guarantee he'd want anything to do with it or her. Not after his family, and most certainly not after a single night that she's ninety percent certain he views as a mistake.

But then she sees herself with a tiny thing, being able to finally have a family. Something that can't be ripped out from under her again and again. A little thing with big eyes and a bright smile. A little thing that she can teach and dress and love.

But then it's back to Frank, and having to face this alone, and trying to find space in her schedules for every bit of prenatal care and planning that needs to be done.

Trish is helpful, of course, and if she's not able to, then Jess shows up in her absence.

But they're not great friends. They're not as close as Matt and Foggy. Before this, they were coffee dates and occasional lunches and business meets. Now they're phone calls and occasional shopping trips.

She pushes on, though. Pushes on and digs for Frank, who has to be somewhere in this goddamned city.

 

* * *

 

Another month passes, and Karen awakes to a bump.

It's not quite what she'd expected. Sure, she'd read the manuals, but a small part of her still thought the whole baby bump thing would be a gradual thing. But no, today was the day that her uterus was able to push forward through her abdominal muscle to give her a bump. Nothing large, and still very much slight enough to be covered with a looser blouse, but she could see it in the mirror after her shower.

And that set off a whole new round of emotions, one that ended with her purchasing a pregnancy test and angrily sticking it into the pot of roses that had sat on her window sill for the past four months.

 

* * *

 

 

"Damn, Barbie," Jessica squints at her midsection, lips somewhat twisted in a considering manner. "From your freak out over the phone I would've thought you'd swollen up like a balloon,"

"It feels like it!" Karen exclaims, running her hands over the slight roundness. Ever since she was a little girl, she'd always been too tall, too bony, awkward Karen Page. But now there was this, however slight it was, and she was sort of tripping out.

Jessica sighs. "Poor you and your supermodel body,"

Karen catches her little smile, though.

 

* * *

 

  
He still doesn't come.

But David does.

Two days after the flower pot debacle, the man is outside her apartment, hair fluffed curls and all.

"I'm, um, sorry to bother you, ma'am," he speaks nervously but quickly, eyes darting about a small bit. "But I'm . . . I'm David. David Lieberman."

Politely, she reaches out to shake his hand. "Would it be eerie to say I know?"

He grins. "Probably not as much as what I'm about to tell you,"

Karen's eyebrows raise, and she self consciously pulls her cardigan tighter about her, leaning further into the door post. "And what would that be?"

David cringes, and it's almost comical. "There is quite literally no easy way to say this, but I've been hacking into the security cameras across the street to make sure you're okay since Frank refuses to show his face around here,"

Her jaw drops, and she's not sure if it's out of a bit of warmth that this man had taken it upon himself to look after her, or outright anger that he'd ever had the audacity to do such a thing.

But then her mind catches on _Frank_ and everything freezes.

"Frank?" she nearly whispers, and dammit Karen has always considered herself feminist and above being some lovelorn girl, but hell if she doesn't miss him. Pregnant or not, she's still sure the tears would develop in her eyes at his name. "Where is he?"

David sighs, and looks down. "Honestly? I have no damn clue," his fingers tap at his sides. "I . . . I still have his number and he shows up at my place every few weeks, but that's it. He hardly even picks up. I don't have an address or anything. I'm sorry,"

Karen puts on a brave face, ignoring the sinking in her stomach. Her lips twitch into a smile, and she holds the door open wider. "It's alright. I'm assuming you have . . . something more to say than that?"

"Yeah. Just a bit," he chuckles, stepping into her apartment. Karen clicks the safety back on her gun, shoving it in her purse as she passes it and leads the way inside. "Coffee? Water?"

"A, uh, water would be nice," he offers, and she nods, grabbing a bottle from the fridge as he sits gently on the edge of her couch. "Thanks," he nods, accepting it as Karen sits opposite him on a chair.

"Is it alright if I just . . . come out with it?" David asks, fingering the label of the bottle.

Karen nods, brushing a strand of hair back.

"I saw your flowers. Have seen them, actually, since last November and all of . . . that went down. Signal was Frank's idea, but I'm the one who kept an eye out,"

_Ah. Micro_. "With the cameras?"

"Yeah. Not exactly legal, but neither's what happened to Frank, so I call it even." David shakes his head. "Anyways, after everything, Frank would never speak to me about you. I . . . I don't mean to imply, but I know you're special to him. He nearly beat the shit out of me for questioning why you're so important, and so it sort of makes sense that he cares for you. Deeply."

Karen clears her throat, hoping and praying that her cheeks aren't nearly as red as they feel. "Yeah, well, the feeling's mutual,"

His face softens. "Again, creepy, but I know. Frank never talked about you after everything, but I was worried, so I kept an eye out. And then, a few days ago, I saw the-the test,"

She can't help but put her head in her hands, because of fucking course. Of course Frank wouldn't see it, but his ally — friend? — would.

"You're pregnant?"

Karen can't bring herself to meet his eyes, but she pushes her hair back and nods, eyes on the ground. "Yes. Four months."

"And . . . And it's Frank's?"

She levels him with a look. "Who else?"

David holds up his hands, placating. "Just . . . clarifying,"

Karen nods, and looks out the window. The roses are still there, moving with the breeze. The white stick stands tall.

"I . . . I know he wouldn't be happy. Not with me, and not with a baby. He's had that, and he's lost that. And I have no right to ask him to do it over again,"

David shakes his head, sniffing. "I know. I know," he seems lost in his thoughts for a moment. "But he — he cares for you. He still needs to know, to have a choice."

"I know," Karen mumbles. "I know that. And if I had any way to tell him, I know I would. He does deserve that much,"

She sniffs, forcing down the wave of emotions that her hormones and thoughts are pushing on her. "And I just miss him,"

But she's lived without him before, with no idea of how or where he was, and she can do it again.

But her heart aches at that thought.

 

* * *

 

David heads home with a headache. One that doesn't end even when Sarah's lips meet his and the kids crowd around his legs.

It's simply Karen. Karen who doesn't deserve to do this alone, and Frank who should be at the very least supportive. It's not like he expects them to tie the knot at this point — he's simply hoping for a bit of contact and friendship between them, and maybe they can figure out the whole romance thing later.

He tells Sarah as much later, laying in bed and taking in the silence.

"He loves her," she says simply, shrugging against where she's tucked into his side. "He's not going to admit it, not after what happened to Maria. But that doesn't mean he can't still feel things."

It's true. Frank feels far too much, and yet he'll never say anything. He's spent weeks with the guy, he's practically a raw nerve when it comes down to it.

"And Karen?"

Sarah takes a longer silence.

"I think Karen's going to do what's best in the long run," she answers finally. "She's been put in an impossible position. When she finds Frank, they're going to have to hash it out. And I think from there she's going to do what's best for the baby, whether that involves Frank or not,"

David's nose brushes through the hair atop her head, and he drops a kiss on her scalp.

"You seem confident they're going to find each other,"

"Oh, they are," she states seriously. "I'm here to see that through."

And honestly, David doesn't doubt that one bit.

Though he'd be lying to say he wasn't at least a bit nervous to see what came of his wife interfering in the Punisher's love life.

 

* * *

 

 

  
“I still can't believe you cheated me out of a night of bar hopping,” Foggy groans, and Karen has to stifle a smile. “You and that damned adorable baby to be,”

She looks around them, at Foggy sitting next to her at the waterfront, the people milling about, the questionable hour of the night. He has a point, but there’s also nowhere she’d rather be.

“You bet they’re gonna be stinking cute,” Karen bumps his shoulder with hers. “And after all of this is over, I owe you about a week straight of alcohol, so just wait Nelson. You’ll get your tequila worm,”

He laughs, glancing down at the pavement.

“You know, I still can’t believe we’re here.” Foggy tacks on after a moment of silence.

“At the river?” Karen raises an eyebrow, teasing. He pushes her fondly.

“No, just — _here_.” His hands gesticulate widely. “No Nelson and Murdock, no Matt, but you’re having a baby and I’m getting married. Like how the hell does that happen?”

Karen smiles softly, looking down at her hands. “Feels like just yesterday we were set up on a date by Ms. Cardenas.”

They both chuckle at that, but then the wind blows, and Karen’s sharply reminded of how everything led up to this. Of meeting the pair of them, of running for her life from Frank, of trying to understand Matt Murdock and his ways. And then, finally, perhaps inevitably, losing him.

“Do you think he’d be proud?” Karen asks quietly, blinking rapidly.

“I hope so,” Foggy answers honestly, and that’s when she leans her head against his shoulder, watching the moon dance across the water.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next update will (hopefully) be here Saturday, but in the meantime I love hearing your lovely words! Thank you so much to those who comment and kudos, it means the world to me. 
> 
> Tumblr — WhenThe SkyeQuakes
> 
> Next chapter: Frank shows his beautiful dangerous man face


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once more, I return with a sort of happy sort of not type of update! But really, gotta treat try to treat this plot seriously at some point. Perhaps this is the point?

Frank's van pulls up to the Lieberman household on a late July evening. Kids are everywhere, school's out, and the sound of the pool next door echoes as he climbs out.

It sort of makes his heart ache, because it was nights like these with the grill on and Maria and the kids crowded around their little picnic table that he loved most. They'd play card games -- spoons, BS, old maid . . . everything. Lisa was quite the force to be reckoned with at gin, despite being only thirteen.

But Zach and Leo ambush him at the door, and it brightens his day anyway. He's come to see there's still good in the world, however little or rare.

"I swear you grow three inches every week," he laughs, tousling Leo's hair. Her nose scrunches playfully as she pushes him away.

"No, you're just shrinking!" she retorts, smiling, and Zach's there to back her up.

"Yeah, old man!"

"Kids!" Sarah calls from the kitchen. "Quit messing with Pete and come set the table!"

The two of them disappear around the corner, and in their place David holds up a beer in each hand. "Hey, man,"

"David," he grins, taking one. "How much sugar did you let those two have today?"

He shrugs. "Just how they show they love you,"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. That and copius amounts of burnt cookies,"

 

* * *

 

Dinner passes by, eventfully uneventful. The kids all talk excitedly about how they're doing in their summer sports, or what random song they heard on the internet this week, and Frank just sits and listens, occasionally interjecting with questions or retorts.

By the ending of the night, as Sarah, Zach and Leo again head to the kitchen to finish up making their cookies for dessert, David takes a sip of beer and pegs Frank with a long look.

"So, have you heard anything from Miss Page lately?" he asks, voice light, but Frank's known him long enough to know that his eyes are anything but.

Frank grunts, looking down. "Don't think that's much of your business,"

David hums, and his foot taps nervously on the ground. "Maybe I've made it my business,"

"How so?" Frank's eyes are daggers, but David doesn't dare look at him.

His insides boil, because this is Karen, and no guy has the right to bring her up like she's his girlfriend or something equally as mundane. Because she's not. She's not his girlfriend, because if they were to ever be together, that word would be too simplistically commonplace. And she is so much more than that.

They aren't together, and they can't ever be. He's damaged, and no amount of time being a free man can take away the blood staining his knuckles. Karen deserves someone who can give her the world and a moon, not him, night terrors and trigger fingers and paranoia.

And that's not to even start on their night together, one which he can't remember save for drunken flashes and the taste of her lips. It was a mistake. One that he regretted -- not for having been with Karen, but rather that she hadn't ever consented. Not properly. Sure, his chest was marred with love bites for a week afterwards, but it wasn't proper to have been in her bed uninvited.

He loved her, damn it. He loved her, and what had happened wasn't right, not for her, and not for Maria's memory.

"I've been watching her," David blurts out. "I was scared the aftermath of everything might attack her too, and I knew she was too important to you for that."

"You sick bastard," Frank growls. "You've been watching for, what, months? Months, huh, and you haven't cared to maybe ask me? To ask her, who's privacy you've been invading?"

"It wasn't like that!" David responds, holding up his hands. "Same camera with the roses. Nothing intrusive. A few times a week -- making sure she's still alright,"

"And is she?" Frank presses, leaning forward dangerously. His chair creaks under his pressure.

Lieberman sighs. "Yes. No." he runs a hand through his hair. "You have to see her, Frank. She misses you,"

His chair squeaks abruptly, Frank standing and pushing it into the table in one motion. He grabs his keys off the table. "I'm not doing this, David. She needs someone more than me,"

"Frank, please --"

But he's already out the door, walking down the darkened pavement towards his van.

 

* * *

 

He doesn't show up the next dinner, or the next one.

Eighteen messages from David remain unopened.

 

* * *

 

 

Frank's nightmares don't start with guns any more.

They start with blond hair and blue eyes and heavy breaths as her forehead leans against his, and god he nearly kisses her, but he holds back.

And the next instant there's a bang, and he hears her scream cut short, blood mars the walls of that elevator and he looks down to see his heart ripped out.

But then he wakes up, and his sheets are damp with sweat and crumpled from his tossing.

And of all things, he wishes she was there. He wishes her hair would be draped over him like silk when she kisses him, and that her fingers would hold his and she would tell him that he's okay. He wishes that he could hold her and wipe her tears when it's all too much. And he wishes that this wasn't a basement, but her — their — apartment.

But he's had that and he's lost that. And he's loved a woman before, and anyone else should be a tainted stain to their memory, but this doesn't feel like that. Maria will always be his first love, his wife, his partner, the mother to his children. She'll always be the right words at the worst times, and she'll always be the one to laugh at his music tastes but know all the words. She's Maria, and nothing can take that from him. He still fucking loves her.

But Karen . . . she's everything Maria isn't. Hard looks and a pistol in her purse, painfully real and a soft palette to combat her fireball personality. She's all hard angles where Maria was soft curves, and yet he still loves it. He loves her, and damn it that hurts.

Because loving her somehow means giving up Maria, and that's not something he wants to do. He doesn't want to give up either of them.

It's selfish. Selfish of him to want the two people who have actually helped him feel human, to want Karen now, but all the same remain loyal to Maria. The thoughts and tugs of each of them are so strong he has half a mind to just end it all, because surely that would be easier than this torture.

But he can't. Because someone or something gave him another shot at this life, and it's wasteful to get rid of it.

So he keeps pushing, loving Maria, and loving Karen in a way that's different but all the same, and looks for something.

 

* * *

 

"You've got to be shitting me," Ellison mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Karen holds on tight to the arms of the chair in his office, trying not to smile. "I've got to say this is probably the best reaction I've gotten this far,"

He throws his hands up. "So you're not screwing with me?"

She shakes her head. "Sorry, boss,"

"Shit," he mutters again, and Karen laughs. "How have you even had time to -?" Ellison shudders. "Never mind. I don't want to know."

The editor settles into his chair, shuffling some papers, then riffling in a drawer before he comes up with a packet. "I'm assuming you came in here for this?"

Maternity leave leaps out at her from the title page, and Karen swallows tightly, mood sobering. She never saw herself here after leaving Vermont, and most certainly not with a man like Frank. The message on her answering machine from her parents when the Punisher had first started his crusade flashes to her mind, and she almost laughs out loud. Their pleas for her to come home and be safe were nothing. She had the scars on her back to prove that home was anything but a safe place. Frank may be questionable sometimes, but ultimately he's a good man, and she's seen it first hand.

"Not the only reason, but yes," she flashes him a soft smile, accepting the papers. "I also figured you might like to be the first person to know?" she bites her lip, hoping that this isn't going to quickly get around the office like she'd feared.

He takes off his glasses, sitting back heavily in his chair. "Page, if you're really that lonely, I have half a mind to order you to go socialize."

"I'm pregnant, boss," she grins, tipping her head. "Can't get much more social than that."

Ellison sighs deeply. "Sadly you have me there."

He squints at her, considering, before settling his glasses back on his face. "Do I have to guess the fatherhood of this kid? Or are you gonna make something in my life easy for once?"

She laughs, a tad out of nerves, as her cheeks flush. "I'd prefer to keep that quiet for now,"

Ellison studies her for a moment more, then lets out a breath and reaches for his coffee mug. "You're quite something, Page,"

"Thank you, I try," she flashes him a wide grin, gathering her papers and purse as she heads for the office door.

 

* * *

 

 

She busies her days with writing, planning, and baby shopping when she's not scouring papers and articles for leads on Frank.

He's always been her priority, but now she has a kid on the way, and that's making itself more clear each day when her skirts don't want to fasten correctly.

She's at twenty two weeks when she first feels a kick.

It's so unexpected that she loses her breath and has to lean against a storefront for support. Trish, who's been out helping her pick up maternity clothes, grasps her elbow worriedly.

"Are you okay? Do you need to sit down?" her eyes search her blue ones, but Karen offers a shaky smile.

"I-I'm fine, actually," she breathes out, reaching down to smoothe over her stomach. "I just -- I felt them kick,"

"Really?" Trish's face lights up, and Karen laughs lightly, trying not to let her eyes water.

"Yeah. It . . . It might not be strong enough for you to feel it yet, but I can," she guides her friend's hand to her stomach, holding it about where she felt the kick.

"Oh!" Trish's eyebrows shoot up. "It's really faint, like I can hardly feel it, but it's there,"

Karen nods, face so wide she thinks it may break. "Hey there, peanut,"

Trish laughs. "Peanut?"

Karen smiles, a tad devilish if she's honest. "I sort of got tired of calling them 'it'. Never much of one for Stephen King,"

 

* * *

 

 

Frank is tired.

He's tired of running, tired of being lonely, and tired of seeing those delicate roses in Karen's window. She wants to see him, and he wants to see her — _god_ , more than anything — but there's so much holding him back. And he's tired of that. He's tired of holding back and letting go, regardless of how his brain rolls around between Maria and his kids and Karen and her eyes and Karen and her bed and Karen being there, blown to bloody bits after Lewis' bomb.

He's stopped trying to deny his feelings, too. Rather than a sharp jab whenever he thinks of love and Karen in a sentence, it's now a fact. He loves her, he wants her safe, he wants to apologize. And he can do all of these things, but he doesn't have the balls to face her again because he doesn't think he'd be able to leave this time. He'd be trapped in her web, in her big blue eyes and gentle touch.

And he sort of misses David, the bastard. He'd grown on him, and despite what he did to Karen, it was time for them to have it out and move on. Really, Frank knew his intentions were good. Didn't mean his actual actions were downright invasive and generally wrong.

A month passes since the incident, and August rolls in, hot and heavy. His van's AC is on full blast as he again rolls up to the Lieberman home.

There's a new car in the driveway, a red Cooper. He has half a mind to just keep driving, because clearly they have company. But he owes David an apology, at the least, and it would only take a moment. Just a moment, to clear his conscience.

He's ringing the doorbell before anything can stop him, despite the alarms going off in his head that have nothing to do with guns or knives but rather something much worse — emotions.

Leo, of all people, opens the door. Doesn't even check who's out there, just flings the door right open and looks up at him. Her smile freezes on her face, eyes widening, and then she flings her arms around his waist.

"Pete!" she probably yells it, but it's with her face pressed into his stomach, so it's more like a muffled yelp, and he laughs.

"Hey, kiddo," Frank's hand meets her hair, ruffling it as he always does, and she giggles.

"Oh, this is fucking _perfect_ ,"

Frank looks up to see a pale woman with raven hair, lips strangely bright as they twist into a smirk. He has half a mind to tell her off for cursing in front of Lieberman's kid, but he refrains. She shakes her head, as if this is too good to be true.

"Page!"

And his heart drops because _shit_ , there she is, staring at him with those eyes, wide and shocked and blue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is one of my favorites so far, and it’s maybe only halfway finished? It’s at 8.3K total, so we’ll see ;)
> 
> Drop a review and scream at me, or do so on Tumblr — WhenTheSkyeQuakes. I’m cool either way, just come join me down here in Kastle Hell. I’ve got cookies.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would just like to say I am BLOWN AWAY from the response last chapter. YALL ARE AMAZING!!!
> 
> Next: I had two ways The Scene™ went down, and in the end I went with this one cuz I’m an angsty thing, okay?

  
Frank's mind is a traitorous thing.

He didn't exactly envision their reunion, but his mind liked to make things play out in his head, and sometimes those things involved Karen running to him like in some shitty movie and others she's angry and slaps him, and really he doesn't blame her. He probably deserves it.

But none of them involve her turning away, sundress swishing around her calves as she tells Sarah "I can't do this".

The mother follows her out the backdoor, shooting an apologetic glance at Frank.

And he's left standing there like some asshole, Leo at his side, the raven haired woman in front of him, and a distinct lack of Lieberman.

"Well, I was expecting more fireworks," the woman shrugs, but offers her hand to him nonetheless. "Jessica Jones,"

He eyes her for a moment, but returns the gesture. "Pete Castiglione,"

"Better known as the guy who got Miss Page into bed," she smirks, and god he might like to do something to wipe that look off her face. "But no, really, congrats. If you hadn't, I might've,"

Frank rolls his eyes and grunts at that, but then his attention returns to Leo. "You alright, hun?"

She holds out her hands to proudly show him her nails. "Jess is helping me put on stickers," she explains quickly. "My friends and I couldn't figure it out, but she's pretty good,"

He can't help but chuckle at that, despite the fact that Karen Page had just appeared and disappeared all in one breath. "Look good, Leo,"

She beams, and then darts off into the house.

Jessica sighs, tipping her head a little as she takes him in. "I'd better follow her. Just give me a minute and I'll send Lieberman out here. You've got a lot to catch up on,"

And yeah, he reckons he does.

 

* * *

 

 

When David comes down, it's with a sealed bottle of Jack Daniels that he promptly sets down on the coffee table. Frank watches him from the couch as he paces for a moment in the kitchen before grabbing two glasses. Wine glasses.

He shrugs apologetically. "Sarah and I don't drink outside of wine,"

So now he's sitting on David's couch, Jack in a wine glass, Karen Page outside probably as messed up as him, while David himself twitches nervously.

"I'm, uh, gonna be completely honest," Frank starts off, clearing his throat. He rubs his palms together. "I came here to apologize for the other night. We were both kinda shitty, yeah?"

David tips his head, nodding. "Yeah, yeah. We were. I'm sorry too," He swings back another sip of liquor, running his sleeve over his mouth.

Frank watches him expectantly, but when nothing comes —

"You, uh, mind maybe telling me what Karen Page is doing in your house?"

David groans and throws his head back against the chair back. "That is a long story, my friend."

"I've got time," Frank presses, because he hasn't got time for this 'long story' shit and beating around the bush. Either Karen's alright, or she's in danger. And if it's the latter, then Lieberman needs to hurry the fuck up so he can go take out whatever bastard is going after her.

"You had a night together, right?" his eyes are focused on the swirling liquid in his glass.

Frank can feel the uncomfortable pressure rising up in his chest. It's the one that appears every time someone tries to bring up the reporter, every time he wakes up alone and in a cold sweat. Stiffly, he nods.

"She's pregnant, Frank,"

And, well, shit.

His brain stops completely, and he's flashed back to sitting in Maria's house, her shaky voice but strong eyes as she tells him she's having a baby. The smell of her skin and the feeling of the hot summer heat that sat in her parent's living room. They'd been kids. Stupid, dumb kids who apparently were now having a baby themselves.

That's what this feels like. This felt like that, like reevaluating his every thought of the future to fit around the fact that he was going to be a father. But this all the same felt new, because this time he knows what comes next.

He knows what her body will look like over the months, how little feet will feel kicking against his palm. What blurry ultrasound pictures will show, the smell of a newborn baby. Their first halting steps, their first day of school, the crying nights in between and the realization they're too big for their crib. Riding bikes and pitching tents and hikes in the woods and late night cards and pillow forts and every single tiny insignificant thing in between.

And his chest aches. Because he's been given another chance at not only life, but this, and it's so damn bittersweet. He's going to get to do that again, but it's never going to be Lisa or Frankie holding his hand, or Maria at his side. It's going to be Karen, with her iron will and bony edges and blue eyes.

And then — does she even want him? Does she want him there, holding her kid with his bloody hands, sleeping next to her at night? Will she hold onto him and her pistol, or will she let it all go for the tiny thing that's about to change her world?

"I need to see her," he finally manages, voice croaking. "Karen — I need to see her . . . just, _shit_ ,"

David nods, pale. "Yeah, uh, yeah. I'll just —" he points towards the back door, standing.

But it's needless, because the next thing he knows the door is opening and Sarah's standing there, looking uncomfortable and torn. Her nose is a bit red, and yeah, Frank knows the feeling.

"She's, um outside," Sarah nods towards the door. "Wants to talk to you,"

And Frank returns her nod, stiffly, not quite registering that his cinderblocks of feet are moving until it's too late.

There she is, in a pastel floral sundress. Her hair is that gold color like sunlight, and there's the faint smattering of freckles over her cheeks and shoulders, and as his gaze travels down, he can see the telltale swelling of her usual flat stomach. It's so large on her thin frame, and mentally he counts back over the weeks. It's been six months, and . . . yeah. There's Karen Page, six months pregnant with his kid, and still looking like the angel he'd first seen in that hospital room.

Her eyes are red-rimmed, and he can't blame her. But somehow, he manages to conjure up a grin, soft as it is under his now full beard.

"Uh, hey," he offers lamely, because really how else do you start a conversation like this?

She looks furious and hurt all at the same time, and he decides instantly it's not a good look on her. It almost rivals some grown men he's faced down — downright terrifying.

"Six months, Frank," she glares at him. "Six _fucking_ months,"

And he nods; takes it. He deserves this, despite his internal war over the past months of whether or not to find her.

"I-I tried everything to find you. Leads, articles. Even had half a mind to try Madani," she laughs bitterly. "I thought it was my fault, eventually. That I'd pushed too far, and into an area you never wanted. You never wanted me, or at least not sober," Karen quiets, her hands falling to her sides. "And then I was pregnant, and if you didn't even want me, then how could you want a kid? Not after what happened to Frank and Lisa. I couldn't ever expect anything. I didn't have the right."

He watches her, the way her hair is loose and moving with the breeze. Her red nose, red eyes, wet lashes. She's not crying, but she's pretty damn close.

"You're wrong," he mutters. A laugh almost breaks out of him, but it's more a snort than anything else. "I just . . . every single night, Page. If it wasn't Maria haunting me, it was you,"

She watches him, almost as if disbelieving.

"It scares me, sometimes, more than the war ever did. I didn't think it was possible to feel this shit again — to be messed up so deeply by someone you care for so much. I said I'd cut off my arm to feel that again, yeah?" Frank chuckles. "Turns out I didn't have to. Got you instead.

"And I'm not going to lie. This fucking scares the shit out of me. Just you alone does but a kid, I mean — shit, Karen. You're having a kid. I — I've been sleeping in a basement for the past ten months, trying just to make sure no one comes after me and somehow finds you. And now I've got a kid, too," he shakes his head, running a hand across his mouth. "I - I'm scared, Page. I'm scared,"

Karen sniffles, looking away. "So am I. And I don't — I don't know how to feel about this. I mean, this baby, Frank . . . I want it so badly it hurts. But then there's you, and there's Maria, and there's Frank and Lisa, and I just don't know what to feel. I want you to know them, I want them to know about their brother and sister, about Maria. But am I hurting them? You? Am I even doing the right thing?"

Frank nods, heart heavy, because he understands so fucking much it's painful. He wants to move forward, but it feels like that somehow means letting go of his family.

He looks at Karen, he looks at where she's carrying their child, and the answer comes as fierce as a bullet. He lost a family, a life, a love. But right here in front of him is another, one that's different but all the same, and one that needs him.

"I don't have answers, Karen," he finally manages. "But this isn't the first time I've done this. Maria, I mean, shit . . . we were nineteen, I'd known her for three months, and suddenly we were gonna be parents, you know? And I asked her right then and there to marry me, because I just couldn't imagine my life without her, without that kid, and it just feel right, yeah?" he shakes his head. "And that's what I feel right now. I want to take care of you, this kid, as best as I can, and as much as you'll let me. And I'll marry you right here, right now, if that's what it takes,"

Her eyes flash back to his, and all at once she's in his arms, colliding with his body and sweeping his senses up in her perfume.

"I — I would too," she admits, lips near his ear. "But I won't, because I want to be able to be together because of us, and not just this baby,"

His fingers glide through her hair; it's like silk. His head turns so he can kiss her ear, beneath the golden layers. "Okay," he answers. "Okay,"

She doesn't move, holding tight to him in the summer light slanting through the trees. Her form still fits in his arms as perfectly as that first time they'd embraced, back in her apartment so many months ago. Her fingers curl through the thick long hair of his scalp.

"On that note, I think I love you," she admits, voice wet. "Please don't run because of that,"

"I won't." Frank says, and she knows he means it. "'Sides, I might sort of love you too,"

After all, he never lies to her.

 

* * *

 

 

"You're sickeningly adorable," Jessica comments later, feet up on the coffee table. "And that's not something I ever thought I'd be saying to the Punisher, so you know I mean it,"

She's not sure if they hear her. Frank's on the couch, Karen curled so she's half in his lap and half against the arm of the couch, and her head's crooked in the dip of his shoulder. There's a stark contrast between the bear black of his beard and Karen's Rapunzel style locks. Jessica feels as if the universe is purposefully trying to screw with her head.

Jessica shakes her head, turning from where Frank's running his hand over Karen's bump and back to her game against Lieberman and the kids. She's always sucked at Monopoly, but evidently Lieberman sucks worse, so there's at least that.

She moves her boot token, chosen specifically in honor of her "kicking David's ass," to the next placement on the board. "Check mate,"

"You really are bad at this, aren't you?" Leo looks up at her, torn between amusement and something akin to disbelief.

"Yeah, kiddo, I am," she grins, taking a sip of the rose Sarah had handed her. Not exactly her first choice when it comes to liquor, if it could even be called that, but again not the worst. It was even sort of good. "But I'm also bad at life, so I guess it evens out,"

A startled noise comes from next to her, and she turns to see Frank, pale beneath all the hair. Karen's grinning, almost too happy, but she's had a rough few months so Jessica will let the sappy look slide without comment. Just this once.

"I felt them, uh, kick," he admits, eyes soft.

And yeah, the universe is definitely targeting her, because Frank Castle is feeling a baby kick and looking like a dork while doing so. _God_ , when did this become her life?

Her phone vibrates in her pocket. "Hey Blondie, Trish is wondering where her car is,"

Karen cranes her neck a little to look at Jessica, a faint cringe outlined there. "She wants it back?"

"Sometime in the next few hours, I guess. She's gotta go out of town tomorrow," Jess rolls her eyes. Sometimes Trish is great, light of her life, but others Jessica just can't understand how the hell she wound up with a celebrity for a sister.

Karen sighs, looking down at her phone for the time. "Guess we'd better get going,"

Frank looks vaguely alarmed. "You've had, uh, quite a bit to drink, you sure that I shouldn't —"

"I'm a high functioning alcoholic," Jessica stands, stretching her arms. "And I've got superpowers 'n shit. Can't get that drunk,"

Karen places her hand on his chest. "I'll be fine, okay?" Frank nods, and their foreheads seem to lean together.

Jessica shoots a glance over to Sarah, just to make sure she's not the only one seeing this. She's not, going by the smug look on the other woman's face.

Zach sticks his tongue out, and Jessica grins. "Yeah, kiddo, me too," she mutters closely enough for him to hear. "But they look happy for once, so we have to let them have that,"

"If we have to," he returns, unimpressed.

 

* * *

 

 

"Remember what I said, Page, about the shitty romcom?" Jessica asks later, pulled up in front of her apartment building. The night is quiet around them, dark save for the streetlights. "I don't think it's that shitty,"

Karen looks at her, squinting as if trying to make sure she's being serious, before smiling softly. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Jess returns. "Now get out of here before I catch feelings,"

The blonde laughs, grabbing her bag as she pulls herself out of the passenger side. There's a shadow behind her, near the building, and she cranes her neck to see none other than Frank sitting outside her apartment door.

"Your hipster's waiting for you," she smirks, just because she can.

Karen hums, a smile on her lips. "Yeah. Seems we have a bit of catching up to do,"

Jessica's unimpressed. "At least he can't get you anymore pregnant,"

Karen slams the door in reply.

But she watches as Karen moves quickly over to where Frank stands, reaching up to kiss him quickly on the cheek before his arm covers her shoulders. They're an odd pair, but they're happy, and at least someone can be.

Jessica smiles as she puts the car in gear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder: I am trash. 
> 
> Feel free to throw comments and insults at this trash can, I tend to enjoy it. 
> 
> Tumblr — WhenTheSkyeQuakes
> 
> Next chapter:
> 
> Baby Castle/Page makes their way into the world, and a certain vigilante makes a reappearance.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! I’m terrible at anything resembling goodbyes, and that includes endings, but I feel like I’ve kept you all waiting long enough. 
> 
> Thank you to every single person who commented, subscribed, left kudos and bookmarked. It means the world to me :)
> 
> Please enjoy!

It's not that they suddenly slip into a domestic routine.

Frank makes his coffee every morning, picking from the grounds that Karen makes sure are abundant in assortment, and preps her decaffeinated tea with just enough honey and the occasional dash of milk. He remakes the couch that he sleeps on every night while she darts into the bathroom to brush her teeth and hair.

It's a strange routine, one she thought she'd never find herself having, but it's . . . nice. Not quite domestic, but something close to it.

Also, kissing.

Lots and lots of kissing and Frank running his hand over her swollen belly with something of a smile under his hipster beard. It's endearing.

Karen makes sure to kiss him in response.

But then three weeks go by, and they have a kid together, and Karen's tired of waiting.

Frank doesn't sleep on the couch after that.

 

* * *

 

"Did you mean it, really, when you said you'd marry me?"

The words sort of slip out because Frank's giving her that look, the one that reads quite clearly "I know you're thinking but if you keep it up on your own you're going to bust". It's one she's become quite accustomed to over the past month, between working on articles that Ellison begrudgingly accepts and just generally trying to work out everything between the two of them. It's been a lot to work through, but it's worth it just to see Frank's face every morning.

"Yeah," he returns, voice gruff. She's found the gruffness is actually a sound of fondness. "Of course I meant it,"

She nods, a noncommittal hum making its way out of her throat, and sits down gingerly on the barstool next to him. Having a stomach rivaling the size of a basketball is an unexpected torture/love scenario. It's more torture than the damned mommy magazines let on.

He looks almost hopeful, sipping at his coffee, but he keeps it quietly controlled. "Why? You been thinking about it?"

Karen grins over the rim of her tea mug. "Maybe,"

 

* * *

 

 

"Page,"

Karen glances up from her papers, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Yeah, boss?"

Ellison sighs, glancing at his watch. "It's almost five. You should be packing up,"

Karen frowns, hands settled on her bump, and looks up at him from her chair. "Are you sure? I mean, I could always stay till—"

"Yes," the editor breaks in, giving her a raised eyebrow. "I'm sure. We'll be fine without you for a few months. Enjoy your maternity leave,"

Karen nods, a little sigh of her own escaping her, and she reaches to shut her laptop. "Alright,"

Ellison drops something  on her desk, and her gaze darts up to see a small brown bag with colorful tissue poking out of it.

"Congrats, girly," he gives her a half grin, shoving his hands in her pockets.

Karen gives him a disbelieving smile, but reaches for the bag. "Tin man has a heart after all? I'm honored,"

Carefully, she pulls out the tissue, reaching in to find a tiny onesie. Her face lights up, until she catches sight of the front embroidery.

Ellison's looking smug as she's ever seen him, and something tells her he's been waiting a long time for this moment. She feels like she should be more shocked, but really, he's a smart man. It's his job.

"Ah, I've waited a long time for this," he leans back against the wall.

"You knew?" Karen blurts out, a disbelieving laugh escaping her. "All this time?"

He's grinning widely, but shrugs. "I had my suspicions, but the look on your face was all the confirmation I needed,"

Karen shakes her head, trying not to laugh. "And what would you have done if thiswasn't the case and you just gave my baby a shirt with a memento mori on it?"

"Then it would still have been pretty goddamn funny considering your track record, Page,"

 

* * *

 

 

Jessica's boots thud on the tile as she flips papers over in her arms. People are absolute morons. If your husband was last seen with an attractive woman before disappearing for a week, there was a chance he was still with her. People didn't like to hear that, of course, but it was Jessica's job to slam the hard facts on the table and force feed if necessary.

Nose wrinkled, she flips the folder shut and shoves it into her messenger bag just as she reaches the cafe door. The doorbell tinkles, and she scowls at it. It's nine o'clock and she hasn't had coffee yet. Translation: too early for bells and shit.

Trish and Karen are already there, sitting in the same seats as all those months ago when Karen had puked her guts out in a toilet. Jess makes sure to shoot a wave and grin at the barista, flask in hand.

"You look like a whale," she says in lieu of greeting. "Any chance you can pop?"

"Feels like it," Karen sighs, arching her back as best she can against the chair back. "Baby hardly sleeps, either, so I'm a whale that's being attacked from the inside out,"

"So, Jonah?" Trish supplies, eyebrow raised as she stirs her latte.

Karen groans. "Please don't bring up biblical references. I got enough of those from my mother the other day,"

"You're still talking to her?" Jessica blurts out, but at least it's not what she was initially going to say. Karen was used to her 'loving insults' by now, but "that heinous bitch?" may not have come across as welcome.

Karen rolls her eyes. "No, I pick up the phone and listen. Sometimes grunt when called for,"

"Seems familiar," Trish nods, half grinning. "But, speaking of motherhood, how're you feeling?"

Karen blows out her cheeks. "Still pretty scared. But also excited,"

Jessica tries not to snort. "We'll see how excited you are after three weeks of zero sleep,"

"She got new neighbors." Trish supplies at Karen's questioning look, taking a sip of her coffee. "New baby showed up a week later,"

"Ah, yeah, that," Karen runs her hand through her hair. "It's gonna be great. It's not like Frank and I don't get enough sleep as it is,"

"Nightmares are a bitch," Jessica nods, twisting her lips. "I'd say sleeping pills but your kid might not appreciate that."

"No, I'd say not," Trish kicks at her feet under the table, lightly glaring. Jessica takes the joy of sticking her tongue out.

Karen sighs, her nose crinkling up. "I've gotta pee. Again. Be right back,"

She stands, footing the chair back slightly, before her eyes widen as she freezes. Jessica frowns.

"You okay there, Barbie?"

Karen takes in a shaky breath, eyebrows furrowed. "Yeah, I just think my water broke,"

Jess darts her eyes down to Karen's sweats.

"Yeah, seems so," she takes a long swig from her flask. "Well, I'll call your hipster. That's one call I can't miss,"

Trish kicks her for real this time.

 

* * *

 

 

Frank is not freaking out.

Sure, his pulse is a bit elevated, but that's totally from the short jog over to Metro General. It has nothing to do with the fact he's about to hold a kid he and Karen sort of made in a few hours or so. And his hands are sort of shaky, but that's from the fact it's cool out. It's late November, after all. New York is sort of chilly.

He makes it inside the hospital, fake ID in hand, and rushes up to the desk. "I'm looking for a Karen Page,"

The woman at reception raises an eyebrow. "Karen Page, huh? Wouldn't happen to be the same Karen Page who worked for Nelson and Murdock, would she?"

Frank gives her a quick once over, and yeah, she's fine. No obvious guns under her scrubs. It's cool, right?

"Yeah, she uh, yeah," he clears his throat, tapping his fingers on the desk rapidly.

She hums, raps on a few computer keys. "Interesting."

"How so?" Frank asks, eyes slightly narrowed.

"Just . . . a friend of a friend," she replies vaguely, and Frank glances at her name tag. _Claire Temple_. Probably one of Red's friends. The guy had eyes everywhere but his head.

"She's in room thirty four, floor three," Claire reads off smoothly, though her expression reads her surprise. "Elevator's to your left, Mr. Castle,"

Frank freezes, but Claire smothers a smile. "Tell Karen I'll be by to see her later for me, will you?"

Frank slowly nods before flat out shaking his head. He really needs to start keeping track of all of Karen's acquaintances. "Uh, sure. Thank you, ma'am,"

Claire smiles sweetly. "You're welcome,"

 

* * *

 

 

Karen is going to murder Frank.

Sure, pregnancy wasn't all it was cracked up to be. It wasn't some glorious daydream. No, her ankles swelled and her belly was riddled with stretch marks and when she wasn't tired she was horny. But really, labor was just the highlight of these past few months.

It wasn't bad at first. A few contractions every few minutes. Nothing she hasn't felt before. But then they started coming harder and faster and now it was seven hours since her water had broken and yeah, it felt like hell. The gas didn't even seem to be helping anymore, and she swatted it away the next time Frank offered it to her.

"It's more of an annoyance," Karen gritted out, clenching her fingers around the railing of the bed.

Frank nodded, squeezing her hand lightly. He didn't say anything, instead brushing her hair back from her face and leaning to press a gentle kiss to her forehead.

 

* * *

 

 

Three hours after that, Karen is holding a tiny red thing that is their daughter. Frank's wiping away tears, and she lets out a teary laugh as she pulls his lips to hers by her hand in his shirt.

"We did it," she whispers, running a finger over the slight roundness of the baby's chin. "Look at her, Frank. She's like a doll,"

He chuckles. "Yeah she is. Tough little thing, too,"

Karen's smiling so wide she thinks her face might break. "She's gotta be tough," she sighs, thinking of all of the evil in this world and all that she herself had been through. But perhaps things would be different by the time their little girl was old enough to see it. Perhaps the name Frank Castle wouldn't be brought up every time someone mentioned gun control, and perhaps Karen herself wouldn't have to carry a gun while always looking over her shoulder. It was all a maze of "perhaps" and "maybe". But somehow, one day, it could be a reality.

(They all fall asleep on top of one another, Frank somehow squished into the hospital bed with his girls, their baby swaddled between the two of them, Karen in a dreamless sleep that had never felt more comforting and like _home_.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And fin 
> 
> I know I said a certain vigilante would make a reappearance, but as I was writing it just didn’t make sense to introduce him into the plot when the plot itself was already winding down. So Matt is still Marvel Dead™ in this fic. However, I might be open to an accompanying piece, which I might write over Christmas break should I find the time. 
> 
> In the mean time, be sure to tell me what you thought! Also feel free to drop prompts — I’ll write just about anything :) And come chat on my Tumblr — WhenTheSkyeQuakes. You can drop prompts or just come hang :)
> 
> ~ Kayla

**Author's Note:**

> I’m tentatively putting the chapter count at 3, but it’s open to change, so just a heads up. 
> 
> I had fun writing this, mess as it is. Feel free to drop your thoughts below. Might even inspire me to update sooner ;)
> 
> Feel free to chat / scream with me about these two on Tumblr — WhenTheSkyeQuakes


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